


keep to the stars (the dawn will come)

by troiing



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition, The Worst Witch (TV 2017)
Genre: Canon Dialogue, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, F/F, Hecate Trevelyan, Pippa Pentaghast, or to be more accurate:
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-26
Updated: 2019-05-26
Packaged: 2020-02-29 03:31:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18770317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/troiing/pseuds/troiing
Summary: Hecate’s eyes catch on three more demons closing in from a distance, and her heart sinks.And then there’s a ring of fire around them, almost blinding. Devastating. Power the likes of which Hecate has seen only from First Enchanters and their ilk. It devours the remaining demons, all but the one Cassandra is engaged with, and without the distraction of the others, Cassandra makes quick enough work of the lone terror.Before either of them can call out—almost before the flames die down—a woman appears in Hecate's periphery, and she has to look more closely.She’s too familiar. Blonde hair. Soft face. But it’s the flash of colour that really gives her away, even twenty years later."Pippa?"**Or: In which HecateHardbroomTrevelyan becomes Inquisitor, and her friend Pippa Pentangleaghast, who fled the Ostwick Circle to become an apostate 20 years ago, comes along for the ride.





	keep to the stars (the dawn will come)

**Author's Note:**

> Literally just a retelling of the beginning of DA:I through the title screen. Sorry not sorry. Mostly, we're establishing early character relationships, history, and politics here. There are a lot of partly-written future installments that are more "Hecate and Pippa interact in the Inquisition setting" that'll come eventually, but for now they're nowhere near done and in nothing remotely chronological in order, hence the current "complete" tag. At the moment, this functions as a decent standalone.
> 
> Lots of eyes on this one. Many thanks to doctoraliceharvey, blackdistraction, and foxx-queen over at Tumblr, and to my buddy Laura, who knows absolutely nothing about Inquisition or Hicsqueak, for giving it a once over and helping insure things, you know, made sense for whatever audience it attracted. Bianca (foxx-queen) has also been an inspiration and an enabler and you can blame her for... literally everything. Had it not been for our discussions about this au/mashup/whatever, this... wouldn't be a thing at all.

There are too many of them. Demons, wraiths. More than they could have expected, more than Cassandra can handle. And Hecate, she’s unarmed; what can she do?

She slips through the Fade—hates it, but has no other choice—and shivers with terror as she feels the air crackling around her when she dodges past the demon that appeared in front of her. She makes her way to Cassandra to stand back to back with her. Once there, a ring of electricity springs up around them—the most terrifying aspect of her magic, an unconscious projection of her energy. Small bolts of lightning that strike the demons who come close, but provide little protection from the gouts of spirit energy that fly their way. To that effect, she focuses all of her concentration on the Fade, on casting a barrier around them both.

“Seeker…”

Cassandra roars as if in response: a terrifyingly primal sound. Something crashes against her shield, and her back presses against Hecate’s with the impact.

At the same time, almost unexpected—her magic is too unpredictable without a focus—a shimmering barrier appears around them. A bolt of lightning strikes the next-nearest demon, and Hecate locks her eyes on it as it rears back with a screech.

“Come on, Seeker,” Hecate growls, in a voice so foreign she’s uncertain it’s her own.

Offensive spells were never her specialty, so she refocuses her magic, prepares to cast a refreshed barrier around them. Cassandra hisses a breath through her teeth and shouts another challenge, spinning to her left. Hecate follows the movement, keeps her back to Cassandra’s, just sees the demon out of the corner of her right eye as Cassandra moves to intercept it. To protect her.

Hecate’s eyes catch on three more demons closing in from a distance, and her heart sinks.

And then there’s a ring of fire around them, almost blinding. Devastating. Power the likes of which Hecate has seen only from First Enchanters and their ilk. It devours the remaining demons, all but the one Cassandra is engaged with, and without the distraction of the others, Cassandra makes quick enough work of the lone terror.

Before either of them can call out, almost before the flames die down—certainly before Hecate manages to draw her own magic back into herself, to stop the flashes of lightning circling around them—a woman appears in her periphery, and she has to look more closely.

She’s too familiar. Blonde hair. Soft face. But it’s the flash of colour that really gives her away, even twenty years later.

“Pippa?”

Pippa’s lips twitch, but whether she withholds a smile or a frown is unclear. “Hecate,” she replies, voice low.

Twenty years later, and Hecate’s heart still leaps at the way Pippa speaks her name. Twenty years later, and she looks older, stronger, but still soft. Still Pippa.

“You know each other,” Cassandra mutters darkly, still panting.

Hecate comes back to herself a bit at the sound of Cassandra’s voice. She reaches out instinctively as the Seeker stumbles, stowing her shield away.

“You’re welcome,” Pippa replies as she closes the distance between them. For the first time, Hecate notices she has two staves at hand. “Here,” Pippa says, “I thought you might be unarmed.”

Before she can react, Cassandra lifts her blade, points it at Pippa with more bravado than anything; she’s still waning, Hecate notes. “Drop the staff. Now.”

“Why should I?” Pippa retorts, not so much as batting an eye at the raised sword.

Unfazed, Cassandra moves a step forward. Between Hecate and Pippa, but so they’re both in her line of sight. “Because this woman stands accused of murder.”

Pippa laughs outright, a near-hysterical sound. “Murder!? Hecate’s never—”

She sobers just as quickly as the mirth came on. Her eyes widen with realisation, and her gaze flickers between Cassandra and Hecate before fixing her eyes on Hecate’s at last.

“The Conclave,” she almost whispers. “You survived.” She casts her attention onto Cassandra again, lips drawn into a frown. “And because of that, you think she’s responsible. That she… that she killed the Divine? That’s absurd!”

“Absurd or not, we have to move,” Cassandra replies. “You may go. With both of your staves,” she says to Pippa

“You really think I need a staff to be dangerous?” Hecate asks, not quite keeping the bitter edge out of her voice.

“Is that supposed to—?” Cassandra begins, but Hecate presses on, unhearing.

“I need a staff. I haven’t attacked you yet. I’m more dangerous to you without one than with, if we should be attacked again, and we almost certainly will be. Without a focus...” As much as she doesn’t want to be here, accused, she wants even less to lose control of her magic, to hurt Cassandra in the process. “Without a staff, I’m all energy and no direction. Not to mention, you’re in no condition to spar with Pippa. You need healing.”

“And that’s Hecate’s forte, not mine,” Pippa replies brightly, offering Cassandra a saccharine smile.

Cassandra makes a disgusted noise even as she sheathes her weapon, eyeing the pair of them with distrust.

“I am faced with two mages,” she states at last, defeated. But then, she fixes her eyes on Hecate and holds her gaze for a long moment. “But I cannot protect you,” she relents, expression softening somewhat. “You should have a weapon. And I should remember that you came willingly.”

Hecate nods stiffly as she takes the spare stave from Pippa’s hand.

“But how can—”

Pippa’s question is cut off as a flare of light bursts across the sky; the mark on Hecate’s hand reacts in time, sending a surge of pain up her left arm and through her body. She catches herself up on the stave, gasping, as Pippa comes to steady her.

“We need to move _now_ ” Cassandra repeats, moving to grasp Hecate’s other arm. “Up this hill.”

Not roughly, Hecate notes, though the touch isn’t what she’d call welcome. She’s never much liked being touched.

Still, she nods slightly as she regains her equilibrium. Takes a step forward with Pippa at her side, Cassandra taking up the rear. Hecate closes her eyes for just a moment, focusing on Cassandra’s energies, and hears the Seeker gasp softly behind her as the healing spell takes hold.

“You’re welcome,” Hecate calls back blandly.

For a moment, there’s silence, only the sound of distant battle ahead of them. Then, quietly: “Thank you.” Another pregnant silence passes before Cassandra asks: “Why _didn’t_ you run? You obviously know each other, and I was in no condition to follow. Why did _you_ stay?” Her attention moves from person to person, a lift in her tone indicating the change of subject.

It makes sense, of course—in that it’s absolute nonsense that a strange mage has just joined their party without explanation. It’s a wonder she hasn’t asked who Pippa is. She must not view introductions as wholly necessary; they do, after all, have more important matters to deal with.

“Hecate doesn’t _run_ ,” Pippa replies before Hecate has quite wrapped her mind around the questions. “Believe me, I’ve tried to convince her in the past.” Hecate winces at the obvious barb. “I stayed because she didn’t try to flee even when her life was in jeopardy.” She pauses for a moment, then speaks up again, addressing no one in particular: “That mark looks an awful lot like the same magic that’s in the sky. I suppose you think they’re connected—that you can use it somehow.”

“Yes. That doesn’t explain why you stayed.”

“Hecate and I were close as children. I thought she died at the Conclave; I won’t leave her now.” Hecate glances over at her, wondering, but Pippa’s eyes are fixed ahead. “Besides,” she adds, almost cheerfully, “you’re ahead of me in the line of succession. How would it look if I just let you die? Five ahead.”

It was only a matter of time, Hecate supposes, before Pippa brought up the fact that she and the Right Hand of the Divine were related, however distantly. This ploy obviously works, because Cassandra growls a noise of frustration even as she pushes between the two of them, sword and shield ready. “Stay behind me.”

They make quick work of these demons: reinvigorated by Hecate’s magic and with support at her back, Cassandra barely seems to take a hit, and their party is none the worse for wear by the end of the altercation.

“Not bad,” Pippa observes as they gather together again, bending to take something from the remains of the largest demon.

“Philippa,” Cassandra says, as if they didn’t just pause their conversation to fight half a dozen demons.

“I prefer Pippa.”

“Philippa Pentaghast,” she repeats, forging ahead as if she didn’t hear. “Disappeared from the Circle at Ostwick twenty years ago, took her phylactery with her. We always thought you would turn up in Nevarra, seeking a place with the Mortalitasi. Their blood is yours, after all.”

“You’ll forgive me, dear cousin, but I’m a few generations removed from the death mages. Life is much more interesting to me.”

“Then that is something we have in common. Still, you would have been legally protected from the Chantry’s will.”

“And caught up in another organization that presumed to tell me how to live, how to use my magic. I left to learn and explore, not to be enslaved again.” At Hecate’s scoffing sound, Pippa’s eyes narrow. “Yes, I know how you feel about the Circles. Ever loyal. And representing the loyalist mages nearly got you killed, didn’t it? You seem to be the only survivor.”

“Stop bickering,” Cassandra orders. “We are nearly at the front; you can hear the fighting.”

“You asked the question,” Pippa shoots back even as she picks up her pace; Hecate matches their strides.

“Rest assured, I would have waited to ask if I had known what would come of it.”

Hecate crests the hill just as Cassandra says this, and is almost glad for a reason to interrupt the conversation. Almost, except that there is a swath of demons ahead, surrounded by fallen soldiers and their flagging allies. “Hurry,” she calls back down the hill, rushing ahead with her staff at the ready, casting a quick barrier around the nearest group of soldiers. “We must help them!”

The battle is chaos. Hecate has never done this, been in the midst of the field, never been forced to use her skills in this way. Gouts of fire strike their marks with precision from beside her, Pippa still steadfastly shoulder to shoulder with her, but Hecate is terrified to actively use her own offensive abilities. Nothing like Pippa. Nothing like the elven mage among the crowd of soldiers, who deftly controls the tide of battle with ice magic.

She shouldn't _be_ here, with magic throbbing in her palm, pulsing in time with a larger version of itself hovering five feet above the ground, demons spilling out of it.

Until the elf appears by her side and takes her by the wrist with a command to _hurry_. Until her whole body goes dark and numb and fiery all at once, arm outstretched as if paralyzed.

For a moment, everything goes black. Hecate sways, barely registers that there’s an arm around her middle, supporting her. Hears, a little distantly, Pippa’s voice. Angry, dangerous.

“ _You could have killed her._ ”

“And yet, I didn’t,” replies the elf—a little too at ease with the staff in his face. Hecate peers at him, flexes her fingers when the mark continues to pulsate on her palm.

Registers belatedly that the rift is closed

“You didn’t have a clue what that would do, did you?”

“I had my suspicions. They were accurate. What would you have had me do differently?”

“Asking her before you took her life into your own hands would have been a good start,” Pippa snarls.

“Stop,” Hecate says. She’s tired; this is too much. “It worked.” Pippa looks at her, shocked, and Hecate grimaces. “I didn’t say it was okay,” she adds, turning to glare at Solas. “I”m alive; the rift is closed. We have bigger problems. But you would do well to keep your distance in the future.”

“I’ll bear that in mind,” the elf replies as Pippa draws back with a scowl. “I _am_ glad to see you still live.”

“What he means is, he’s been playing nursemaid while you got your beauty sleep,” says a dwarf from nearby; like the elf, he is not dressed as the other soldiers, and the crossbow balanced in his arms is certainly not chantry-issued. “Varric Tethras: rogue, storyteller, and occasionally unwelcome tagalong.” He winks at the end, causing Hecate to wrinkle her nose, but she doesn’t get a chance to reply before the dwarf turns his attention to Pippa. “Nice to see you again, Pip.”

From her position on the ground, now quietly examining a soldier’s injured leg, Pippa makes a noise of acknowledgement. “Last I saw you, you were up to no good in Kirkwall,” she replies.

“So were you, I think. What brings you to this festive occasion?”

“Oh, just hooking up with an old friend or two, visiting family.” She ignores Cassandra's snort, asks instead: “Hecate, can you heal this?”

As Hecate bends, replacing Pippa’s hand with her own just above the soldier’s swelling knee, Pippa observes: “You’re a long way from Kirkwall yourself.”

“He was brought to tell his story to the Divine,” Cassandra explains, though her eyes are on Varric. “Since that is no longer necessary, he is free to go.”

Varric scoffs. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Absolutely not. Your help is appreciated, Varric, but—”

“Have you been in the valley lately, Seeker? Your soldiers aren’t in control anymore. You need me.”

The woman makes a noise of disgust, throwing her hands into the air—as if, Hecate thinks, she knew this was true but wanted an excuse to get rid of the dwarf.

Interesting.

The wounded soldier is on his feet now, Hecate and Pippa each holding one of his hands as he tests his weight on the injured leg, nodding thanks at them both when he finds the spell has worked.

“Elevate it when you can,” Pippa murmurs, whilst Solas speaks up from a few feet away.

“And I am Solas, if there are to be introductions. I studied the mark on your hand while you slept.”

“He’s an apostate like you, kid,” Varric supplies, nudging Pippa with his elbow.

“All mages are apostates now,” Hecate replies darkly. “Loyalists and rebels alike.”

Solas makes an odd sound, not unlike a stifled laugh. “Funny; I was going to say the same thing.”

Hecate shoots a glare at Solas in reply, but the elf has already turned his attention to Cassandra again. “Seeker, your prisoner is a mage, but I find it difficult to imagine _any_ mage having such power as we have seen here.”

“Understood,” the Seeker responds blandly, even as she moves away from the group. “We must get to the forward camp quickly. This way; down the bank. The road ahead is blocked.”

“Well, Bianca's excited,” Varric says conspiratorially as Cassandra forges ahead.

Pippa chuckles. Hecate does not ask who Bianca is.

There are swaths of demons along the way—far more and more powerful than they have yet faced, Hecate realises. But between the five of them, they make it. Hecate and Solas maintain barriers; the elf obviously favours spirit and ice magic. Pippa is truly in her element—Hecate had nearly forgotten what a skilled mage she was, and she has only become more powerful in her private studies—calling up devastating gouts of fire among the terrors. Varric is quicker than he looks, takes enemies down with admirable efficiency.

And then there’s Cassandra. Most of Hecate’s actual martial experience has been with other mages at her side; she’s never seen anything quite like this. Cassandra’s battle tactics seem to revolve around provoking the enemy into an attack—particularly, in provoking enemies to attack herself instead of other, less-armoured members of her party. Twice, Hecate thinks she is going to be mowed down by a demon, and both times Cassandra is suddenly _there_ , charging in and gaining the demon’s attention only to let her shield take its fury.

She’s glad they’re on the same side, and more glad when they finally pass through the gates at the forward camp.

The Orlesian—Leliana, who Cassandra so recently worried over in their trek—is there, deep in discussion with a Chancellor Hecate recognises but doesn't know. She wonders, briefly, how the woman made it through from Haven on her own; supposes Varric must have been right in his summation that she was clever and capable.

“Ah, you made it,” she says, turning to the group before they have quite made it to the table. “Chancellor Roderick, this is—”

“I _know_ who she is,” the man interrupts, and Hecate immediately dislikes him. “As Grand Chancellor of the Chantry, I hereby order you to take this criminal to Val Royeaux to face execution.”

Pippa stiffens at Hecate's elbow, voice pitched high with disbelief when she asks: “I'm sorry, _execution_?”

It goes largely unheard, because at the same time Cassandra rises to full height and shoots back: “‘Order me’? You are a glorified clerk. A bureaucrat!”

“And you are a thug, but a thug who supposedly serves the Chantry!” Roderick blusters.

Even if Cassandra doesn't believe she's innocent, the set of her shoulders and jaw, the hand resting on the pommel of her sword, is at least a little comforting.

It is Leliana who speaks up with a voice of reason. “We serve the Most Holy, Chancellor, as you well know.”

But it does nothing. “Justinia is dead! We must elect a replacement, and obey _her_ orders on the matter!”

Hecate frowns, can't help but scoff. It's true, she's something of a loyalist, though she would rather not call herself Andrastian, but this... “Isn’t closing the breach the more pressing issue?”

“You brought this on us in the first place.” Hecate bristles at the accusation, but Roderick will not slow his barrage. “Call the retreat, Seeker. Our position here is hopeless.”

“We can stop this before it’s too late,” Cassandra insists, obviously no less exacerbated than Hecate.

“How? You won’t survive long enough to reach the temple even with all your soldiers.”

“We _must_ get to the temple,” Cassandra replies, as if to spite him. “It’s the quickest route.”

“But not the safest,” Leliana interjects. “Our forces can charge as a distraction while we go through the mountains.”

Cassandra shakes her head. “We lost contact with an entire squad on that path; it’s too risky.”

“Listen, Roderick interrupts again, “abandon this now, before more lives are lost!”

For the briefest moment, silence falls across the group. And then, with a noise of frustration, Cassandra turns to look at Hecate. “How do you think we should proceed?”

Hecate frowns, scoffs. She neither wants to make this decision, not understands why the Seeker would charge her with it. “Now you’re asking me what I think?”

“ _You_ have the mark,” Solas supplies pragmatically.

“And you are the one we must keep alive,” Cassandra adds. “Since we cannot agree on our own…”

Sighing, hesitating for only a moment, Hecate clenches her left fist, feeling the burn of the mark on her palm, against her fingers. “Fine. The soldiers are already in the valley regardless; the five of us can’t do much to help them, and you may not have another chance to search for the missing squad before it’s too late. We should find them if we can.”

“Very well,” Leliana murmurs. “I’ll have Commander Cullen rally the rest of the troops.”

As they move off toward the mountain path, Roderick’s voice follows them:

“On your head be the consequences, Seeker.”

It’s a wonder no one’s stabbed him yet.

* * *

Half the missing soldiers are dead by the time they find them, but find them they do. There’s trouble along the way, a rift in the pass too, but they manage it in good time and without serious injury. The remaining scouts join them as they make their way down the mountainside, battle-weary but able, and Hecate shuts out the quiet murmurs, the shivers and shudders as they pass through what remains of the temple, through the corpses charred through, waiting for a strong wind to blow them away.

No one speaks until the rift is in view, the breach swirling ominously above it.

“The breach is a long way up,” Varric murmurs, breaking the silence with a tone of mixed awe and trepidation.

Footsteps echo behind them, running. “You’re here!” Leliana. “Thank the Maker.”

Not one to mince words, Cassandra gestures to what remains of the structure. “Leliana, have your men take up positions around the temple.” As the archers, including the scouts from the pass, spread out, finding vantage points around the otherwise-deserted temple, Cassandra turns to Hecate. “This is your chance to end this. Are you ready?”

“I only hope you have a plan for getting me up there,” Hecate replies, doubt growing as she gazes up at the breach high above them.

“No,” Solas says. “This rift was the first; it is the key. Seal it, and perhaps we seal the breach.”

“Then let’s find a way down,” Cassandra says, her continued pragmatism and focus something of a boon. “And be careful.”

For just a moment, Hecate catches Pippa’s eye, and she is smiling. Only a little, and mirthless, but encouraging. Hecate nods, and leads off in the only direction there is to go.

* * *

She wakes to warm light. To a sigh.

“Hecate?”

She groans, pressing two fingers against her brow, against the pressure in her head. “Pippa? We did it, didn't we?”

“We did. You did.”

“That demon…”

Pippa’s weight joins hers on the bed, and Hecate blinks her eyes open to gaze uncertainly up at her. It takes her a moment to come into focus, but when she does, she's pretty as ever, eyes soft and smile warm, encouraging. “Everyone made it, Hecate. It's alright.”

Before Hecate can muster a response, before she even has time to process, to _remember_ , a young elf appears in the doorway without preamble. Even this, Hecate barely has time to take in, for the girl gasps and drops to her knees, the crate she brought with her clattering to the floor.

“Oh. I didn't know you were awake, I swear!”

“Who are you?” Hecate asks on impulse, levering herself upright despite the noise of protest Pippa makes.

“I beg your forgiveness and your blessing; I am but a humble servant.”

“Oh, please get up,” Pippa utters, but the elf barrels on.

“They say you saved us. The breach stopped growing, just like the mark on your hand. It's all anyone has talked about for three days!”

“Three—Pippa, you—”

“You haven't been awake five minutes, Hecate!” Pippa says before Hecate can finish. It's amazing how well she knows her after all this time.

“I—I'm certain Lady Cassandra would want to know you've wakened,” the girl remarks as she gets to her feet. “She said ‘at once’.”

“And where might I find her?” Hecate asks on a sigh, on edge in the presence of the nervous girl.

“In the chantry, with the lord Chancellor. ‘At once,’ she said!”

As quickly as she'd come, the elf bolts out the door, leaving the crate full of herbs behind.

Hecate screws her eyes shut, sighs. Swivels, willing up the energy to stand.

“Hecate, you don't have to—”

“It's alright, Pippa,” Hecate mutters, pushing herself to her feet with a grunt. “Andraste knows what she wants.”

“Nothing that can't wait.”

“Hmph. Perhaps she intends to have me executed after all, if I keep her waiting.” She says this in a blithe tone—as blithe as she's capable of, anyway.

Pippa grunts displeasure, but takes Hecate by the elbow. “Don't be ridiculous. My _dear_ cousin seems to have taken something of a liking to you. I'm still coming with you, though.”

“Fine,” Hecate says. Arguing with Pippa was always pointless. And anyway, Pippa's presence is something of a comfort, even after all these years. “Did the breach really stop growing?”

“It did. They're calling you the Herald of Andraste.”

Hecate cannot interpret Pippa's tone; it's been too long. But she knows how _she_ feels about the title.

“I'm not the herald of anything.”

“Maybe a bad mood.”

Hecate scowls. Pippa keeps a straight face for only a split second before breaking into a laugh.

“Let's just find out what the Seeker is after, hmm? Leliana is probably with her.”

“Why? What are they up to?” Hecate asks, but Pippa only shrugs.

“I've been with you.”

Hecate gazes at Pippa, wondering, ignoring the murmuring crowd of people mingling near the path. What could have possessed Pippa to stay with her all this time? Had it been Pippa who'd kept her alive? Who knew what she'd been up to for the past twenty years? But Hecate doesn't get long to dwell; they've made it to the chantry. Pippa was right about Cassandra and Leliana; unfortunately, Roderick is indeed there as well, still full of bluster.

Hecate shuts down, mostly. Everything that's happened is too much—it feels as if the previous arguments happened hours rather than days ago. She hears enough to know that she has gained Cassandra's favour after all, and to balk at the realization that Cassandra is among those who believe her somehow ordained. Touched. Blessed. Something. Pippa scoffs beside her, interjects from time to time, and Hecate is grateful to have her on her side, even if she still doesn't quite understand why she's returned.

She nearly jumps out of her skin when Cassandra slams a tome down on the table, brought back to the present by the noise, and by the hand Pippa reflexively places on her arm to steady her.

 _Inquisition._ Hecate has heard of the first Inquisition, but knows very little about it.

“It preceded the chantry,” Leliana explains when Roderick leaves in the wake of Cassandra’s scorn. “People who banded together to restore order in a world gone mad.”

Pippa makes a disapproving noise, spits out: “You’re trying to start a holy war! The original Inquisition spread religion by force!”

“You are forgetting that when it was all over, they laid down their banner and formed the Templar Order. But the Templars have lost their way. For now, we are already at war,” Cassandra adds in a more reasoning tone. “ _You_ are already involved. Its mark is already upon you.” For a moment, her eyes linger on Hecate, expression pointed. Then she relents, addressing the room at large again, though her gaze fixes on Pippa. “As to whether the war is holy… that depends on what we discover.”

Hecate can _feel_ Pippa seething. Uncharacteristically, however, she holds her tongue.

How much more has she changed since Hecate knew her?

Hecate swallows. “We’ll see how this goes,” is all she can manage. Terse. Numb.

“That is all we ask,” Leliana replies, calm and quiet.

“Help us fix this.” There’s something under Cassandra’s pragmatic tone—a spark of idealism that Hecate finds she respects. That, and a hint of desperation. She extends her hand. “Before it’s too late.

Hecate takes it firmly. Nods. And Cassandra almost, _almost_ smiles.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, and if you have anything Hicsqueak you'd like to see in this mashup verse, feel free to drop a comment! Maybe I'll consider it a prompt!


End file.
